Mentalist Miscellanies
by FiascoWay
Summary: A smorgasbord of Mentalist fics! A rag tag of unrelated stories acting as episode tags, musings on various Mentalist related thoughts or outright AU crack-fic. An attempt to de-clutter my Mentalist obsessed mind.
1. Chapter 1 - Crush Syndrome

**Crush Syndrome**

Head down, Lisbon strides into her office and shuts the door. The noise of the bullpen fades and she fight's the temptation to drop the blinds as well. She peers through the glass and sees the team are hard at work chasing down fresh leads unearthed by her consultant.

Her treacherous eyes cut a glance at the figure on the couch. He's in full repose, only the burnt honey curls and the tips of his shoes visible. She can tell he's genuinely trying to sleep and that's the problem right there. She has spent entirely too much of her time carefully watching him, trying to read his every move and gesture, the motive behind the surface display.

She thinks about getting her lunch from the fridge but the tension in her body kills any appetite. There's a disquiet in her belly that has nothing to do with hunger. It's like the anticipation of bad news, something that you know will come soon, but not precisely when. Or perhaps the sense of dread anticipation for when a man of violence will finally explode. Each day where nothing happens just adds to the tension. When fists start flying it's almost a relief; a confirmation of how things really are. Lisbon is well acquainted with that way of living.

With an effort she stops her mind from running down that rabbit hole. To all intents and purposes she got her bad news, and it's unfair to compare it with domestic violence. She unlocks her laptop and brings up the CBI database. Her team are logging the details but as supervisor she needs to review and approve them. She goes through a couple of items before her mind returns to the morning's interview with the Walters family. She feels her cheeks flame crimson and she sinks further down her chair to hide behind the monitor.

* * *

It had been a routine day. She and Jane were interviewing the parents of sixteen year old Jarod Walters. The boy had been abducted and killed for no clear reason. They'd finished with the family and had moved onto the live-in staff of the stately home in Granite Bay. Jane had fixated on Janice, the young maid.

"You had a crush on Jarod, didn't you."

The young girl flushed. "No…" Her voice was barely above a whisper, lacking conviction.

Jane's expression softened. His tone became gentle. "Don't say that, we both know that it's true."

From her position flanking Janice, Lisbon's lips formed a thin line. She hated it when he used his 'mark' voice. Watching yet another victim fall under its spell she felt a moment of disgust. She hated how easily Jane could manipulate people and for the umpteenth time she worried she was no better.

The eyes that appeared to stare deep into your soul, the soothing tone articulating your most secret feelings, dragging them to the light but in way that offered understanding, not judgement. She shivered involuntary and a slight twitch suggested Jane sensed it. She forced herself to focus on his words.

"It's not your fault, Janice. You didn't ask for it to happen, I know that. It probably crept up on you. Suddenly you realised you were more aware of him. Wherever he was in the room, you knew. You could pick up his moods, see when he was happy or sad. Later on you realised how much you cared about how he felt. If he was unhappy, and let's face it, he was often unhappy, it was like a dark cloud over your soul. You didn't chose that, who would? The heart wants what the heart wants."

Her head drooped in submission. "Yes."

Jane crouched a little to maintain eye contact but all of a sudden Lisbon realised he was also engaging her.

"Don't feel bad, Janice. The intensity of what you feel, the hypersensitivity to his presence. People call it a crush but that hardly does it justice. What you feel is real but you have to realise they are your feelings, not his. Those emotions come from inside you and when you fully understand that, then you can control them and make them pass.

The poor girl sobbed. "I'm sorry."

Jane's voice dropped a half octave. "Oh don't be sorry. Intense empathy such as yours is the sign of a good heart. Too good for Jarod, to be honest. He was shallow and selfish and cruel. He only cared about his own agenda and had room for nothing else. Given time you'll come to see that and you'll be the stronger for it."

Lisbon felt trapped by the conversation. All the while Jane talked to the young girl he was watching Lisbon as well. At some point Janice ceased to exist and it was as if it as just the two of them in the room. The implication broke upon her body like a freezing cold wave. She lost all colour and left the interview. When Minelli called her for an update on the case she could have wept for gratitude.

The drive back to headquarters was intensely uncomfortable. Lisbon forced herself to focus on the road, trying to distract her mind from endlessly analysing what he said to her, or rather what he didn't say but strongly implied. It was a small mercy that Jane was feeling introspective as well. He'd made his point and had the sensitivity to leave her space to mull it over.

As she exited the vehicle Lisbon finally trusted herself to speak. "You'll update the others on what we learned?"

Jane nodded and then offered a smile comprising equal parts sympathy and compassion and then headed for the elevator. Lisbon remained at her car, reeling like she'd been punched in the gut. He possessed such a brilliant pallet of charm and warmth and emotion and he could turn it on and off like a tap. Lisbon could learn to accept that artifice but the kicker was that she _knew_ at times it was real. She just could never be sure when…

* * *

Lisbon snapped back to the present and realised her eyes were once more resting on the man on the couch. "Message received," she whispered sadly to herself. She pondered strategies to deal with the situation. She wanted to be angry at Jane's monstrous presumption but in truth he'd acted with tact and delicacy. Pathetically, she was grateful for that.

Did she fall back on cold professionalism? Limit her interactions to the minimum required for the efficient working of cases? Her heart quailed at the thought. Dammit, on top of everything else she liked him as a friend. Maybe one she couldn't fully trust but a friend nevertheless. The only non-cop in her professional life, a wonderful antidote to the grim, dour realities of her job.

Lisbon groaned and leaned back in her chair. He didn't feel the way she felt. That was obvious. It was a small solace he didn't feel that way about anyone else either. At least no-one living. He put up a carefree front but she knew underneath his grief still dragged on him like a leaden anchor.

His life outside of work was condensed down to the bare essentials. She knew his mail address, had even googled the lifeless three star motel he called home in Sacramento. Work and revenge were now literally his whole life. Her mind shied away from contemplating an existence that empty. No. Even if it made life easier for her she couldn't just shut out Jane. He really needed a friend to keep some humanity in him alive.

Lisbon unconsciously straightened in her chair. She could be a friend, she just had to get over this damn crush. She tried to remember what she'd done in similar situations in the past. After some thought she realised it had never really come up.

In high school she'd been too consumed with the unfolding tragedy of her home life to have much thought for boys. Then she'd met Greg and they'd kind of latched onto each other. Nothing unrequited there, at least on her part, she thought uneasily.

College had been a liberating experience, though seasoned with a little guilt for leaving her brothers behind. She dealt with the guilt by studying hard. Dating was never a priority though she'd never lacked for suitors. When the mood took her she even went out with some of them. College was a time for exploration and fun and on occasion she had certainly indulged. The lack of permanence suited her fine.

Lisbon's thoughts strayed to the SFPD and then quickly shied away. _That_ was as very different situation. No help there. She mentally reviewed her recent dating life. She'd had some pleasant encounters, though none recently. She couldn't even blame Jane for that.

She'd found the local dating scene with its preponderance of single, intense government workers a little off-putting. It was too much like a production line. Finish work, hit the scene on Friday/Saturday night and hook up with a like-minded person. Safe conversations, safe sex in safe positions and then back to the weekday grind. No thanks, she wanted something more than that.

Which brought her back to her consultant, damn him. What did it say about the male population of Sacramento that a Jane operating at 10% effort easily eclipsed her interest in other men who gave it their all? She looked at him lying peacefully on his couch. She pictured the rest of the office leaving, leaving just the two of them alone. She pictured just walking up to his couch and pinning him to the cushions, having her way with him…

Lisbon groaned aloud. That was just wrong. Not to mention her feelings about Jane really were only tangentially related to sex. Her thoughts began to take further shape. What she needed was to shake things up. Break the pattern. She still had some last month's performance bonus in her savings account. Maybe it was time to spend some of it on a weekend in her old stomping grounds in San Francisco. She could book a nice hotel, catch up with some of her San Fran lady friends and paint the town red. Relax, have fun, and hopefully get laid. Decision made she jumped online and booked a room before she could change her mind.

A few minutes later she got a call. A kid found dead in the woods near a school called Bright Arch. Equilibrium restored, she strode into the bullpen to brief the team.

 _ **A/N: I've always wondered how Lisbon got over her pretty obvious crush on Jane in season 1. She's definitely over it by season two but**_ _ ** _ **rather**_ than putting it down to the fallout of Jane shooting Sherrif Hardy, I figured I'd come up with my own answer.**_


	2. Chapter 2 - Oysters, Snails or Cannoli?

_**A/N: This one's a crack-fic. 'M'-ish crack-fic at that. You've been warned…**_

He stood on the pavement and took a long, steadying breath. Austin's night air was hot and moist and he could feel his body responding like a coma patient waking to life. It was that damned red wine, he reflected. The wine and watching Lisbon drinking it.

After the first glass he'd actually felt relaxed in her company, a first since his return. The second glass warmed him right through, like slipping into an hot scented bath. It made him aware of Lisbon in a way he hadn't been in a long time. Her body, her closeness and especially her lips. They were stained dark red by the wine and he longed to taste them.

A second bottle came and went and all he could think about was how he wanted to devour the woman next to him. To drag her to his lips before plunging down to taste the sweet salt at the crook of her neck; to push her back onto a bed and acquaint himself with each sweet contour on the way to the wellspring, to drink deep of its carnal waters till she was consumed with pleasure.

He tried to hide his reactions but he could tell Teresa was aware. He could tell by the way she didn't meet his eye, from the guilty jerk as his hand accidentally made contact with hers. More especially from the darkening of her pupils and the slight catch in her breathing. Oh she knew, all right. But she persisted with her ingenious games. Texted Marcus. Thanked Jane for the meal and called a cab to take her home. He didn't rise to see her out for fear of revealing what had already risen.

He waited for equilibrium to return but hours later his body still surged with desire and he'd made his way to her street. He glanced down at the bag of cannoli in his hand. Lame but good enough for someone who could be swept off their feet by some feeb.

Now that his blood was pumping again he'd finally taken the time to piece together the meaning of all those pleading looks she'd been giving him. She was hoping he'd make a move? Was Marcus just a ploy to make him declare himself? Was his Lisbon really behaving like some silly school girl playing one boy off against another? So much for equality.

The full moon was like a magnet and the tide of his libido was rushing in. After a very long winter the sap was finally rising and the beast awakened to ravenous hunger. Jane strode down her driveway; purposeful, resolute, rigid.

He pounded on her door. She'd open up and then he'd…

Pike opened the door.

"Jane?!"

The bag of cannoli hit the floor.

Time for plan B. He was nothing if not flexible when pursing his goal.

Jane's eyes pinned Pike in place as he grabbed him by the back of the neck and drew him into a deep kiss. His rival stiffened in shock before being dragged under by a sea of lust. Easy, so easy, Jane thought to himself. The Art Crimes sissy was a like thin reed before his hurricane of thwarted desire. He almost felt sorry for him. Fancy being called Marcus Pike. Marcus – mark – sucker. Pike – Fish. A suckerfish by name and nature.

He deepened the kiss and was rewarded with a soft moan from Marcus. Jane let his eyes to wander, idly tracing a water stain on the porch ceiling. He reviewed his misery of recent months in a detached manner. All he'd even needed to do was work out what he wanted. Then it was simply a matter of taking whatever steps were necessary, no matter how unpleasant.

OK, that was long enough. Dragging his lips free he left Pike gasping like a landed fish. Jane slid his hand from Marcus' neck to his backside and pulled him full length against his full length. He held him there just long enough to give a taste of what was to come, then pulled him out onto the street.

Pike trotted obediently along, his face pinched together in confusion and lust, listless Lisbon already forgotten. As Jane led his mark down the road he cast a regretful look back over his shoulder at the bag of cannoli sitting in the light of the porch.

Oh well. Teresa or Pike; either way he'd have been eating seafood tonight.

Lisbon came to the door in time to see them slip into the sultry darkness. There was a girly squeak as Jane's hand moved from Pike's waist to his ass and goosed him along.

Lisbon slumped against the door frame in relief. With her (ex?) boyfriend gone it was like waking up from a feverish dream. The last month had been a nightmare where she was trapped screaming inside her head while seemingly someone else did one stupid thing after another. She wondered just how far Jane would go and what he would do to get Pike permanently out of the picture. Pike and Jane… A hot breeze insinuated itself through her thin clothing to stir at her nethers. How would she pass the time?

She glanced down and saw the abandoned cannoli. Wonderful man. A sweet little entrée before her main course returned.

 ** _A/N: I have a horrible feeling elements of this story may have trod close to someone else's work but I can't for the life of me pin down the inspiration. In the words of Tom Waits, think of it as borrowing rather than stealing. With borrowing there's the implication you're also giving something back…_**

 ** _Slight nod to Kubrick's Spartacus as well as Pedro Pascal's character in Game of Thrones._**


	3. Chapter 3 - It's No Gift

**_A/N: More regular TM fiction resumes with this one…_**

"How did he know where I hid it? How could he know!"

After more than a year of working with Jane, that particular tone of voice had become very familiar to Lisbon. It was the odd combination of dismay and wonder a perp expressed when brought down by one of Jane's schemes.

"It's a gift," said Lisbon with a mix of pride, envy and frustration. She didn't bother hiding her smirk as she pushed Williams into the back of the SUV. When the killer was vicious and unremorseful, delivering them to justice was a particular pleasure.

She shot a glance at Jane, who invariably positioned himself for maximum enjoyment of the payoff when his scams delivered. She was in time to see his self-satisfied grin falter for a second before being propped back up to its normal irritating levels.

They shared a car for the return from Pao Alto. Jane was riding shotgun as Lisbon coolly steered their SUV down the highway. Lisbon started taking him to task over some minor fallout from his behaviour but his response was halfhearted at best.

The conversation petered out and Jane seemed content to stare out the window while is elegant fingers tapped a-rhythmically on the dashboard. Lisbon sensed something was a little off but couldn't pinpoint a cause. She mentally reviewed her catalogue of 'Jane triggers' but came up blank.

A quick glance revealed nothing unusual. Rumpled shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, creased pants and a frayed collar. The ensemble was leant some elegance by the expensive vest that was fully buttoned despite the heat. It was one of the days where he'd tamed his hair and taken the time to shave properly. If he was aware of her gaze he gave no sign of it. His eyes were unfocussed, lost in thought.

Lisbon knew better than to ask him what was going on. Ignoring him was by far the better strategy. She adjusted the volume on the radio to just above the humming of the wheels and began planning out the rest of her day. Cho and Rigsby could see to getting a formal confession from Williams which meant she could make a start on reviewing the team's performance appraisals.

"It's not a gift." Said so quietly Lisbon had to pause a second to rewind the words.

She turned towards Jane. "What?"

More firmly. "You said what I did was a gift. It's not…"

Lisbon watched her consultant for another second before returning her attention to the road. "OK…"

The SUV consumed another few hundred yards of highway before Lisbon realised she would have to take the initiative if the discussion was to continue.

"Ok, it's not a gift. It's a talent, a knack, an manifestation of the brilliance of your mind…" Her voice grew irritated. She'd tried to be sympathetic but these types of conversations were not her forte.

Jane didn't answer. Just hunched deeper into his car seat. The highway continued to hum beneath the SUV's wheels.

Lisbon grew exasperated. "What?!"

Jane exhaled loudly and squirmed into an even more self-pitying position. "Never mind."

Lisbon ground her teeth silently. Rather than say something caustic she might later regret she settled for turning up the volume of the radio. Smooth Jazz flooded the cabin at a volume a fraction above comfort level.

Lisbon was tempted to ignore Jane for the rest of the trip but nagging at her conscience was the fact it was unusual for Jane behave in such a passive aggressive way. Complain and moan, absolutely. He could sulk better than child denied a Sunday treat. This felt different. She mentally reviewed the management book she'd recently been reading and in particular it's chapter on open communication.

Jane was staring fixedly ahead, fingers tapping on the dash to their own agitated rhythm. Lisbon savagely stabbed the radio's off button. "OK seriously Jane, what gives? As t... anything you share will be in the strictest confidence." Soothingly. "This is a safe environment."

Jane snorted. "Did you read that in one of your management books?"

If Lisbon could have crossed her arms she would have. "Yeah it was the chapter on how to handle whiny sad sacks." Well that's wasn't quite by the book. She shot a quick glance Jane's way and spotted him covering up a hint of a smile.

He turned towards her, suddenly engaged in the conversation. "Lisbon, how would you feel if I complimented your police work by saying you were just naturally good at it, or that you were one of those lucky people for whom everything works out. How would you feel about that?"

Lisbon shrugged. "You never compliment me on my police work so I guess I'd be shocked that you'd said something nice."

Jane blinked. "Ok that's fair. Let's table that issue and assume it's a given I consider you an outstanding agent. You are, by the way. I thought that went without saying."

The unexpected compliment warmed Lisbon in a way that rivalled the California heat. She reluctantly returned to the main thread of the conversation. "You were saying something about luck…"

"Yes. What if I summed up your contribution to police work as mere luck? You were just lucky to be born with a talent for policing with all it entails such as tackling perps, threatening members of the public and shouting at your hardworking consultant."

"Hey! be nice." She raised a hand in mock threat, winning a smile from Jane. Lisbon grinned back and they shared a moment before Lisbon pressed on. She had an inkling of where Jane was going but wanted to make him work for it. "Maybe I _was_ lucky to be born with an aptitude for law enforcement. From the moment I enrolled in the academy I felt I was in exactly the right place at the right time. The training, interacting with the public, seeing how I could make a real difference…"

"Granted. You have the soul of a policeman. But if you took that rookie Lisbon with her pixie haircut and size four pants and stuck her into your job today how would she do?"

It was Lisbon's turn to blink as she considered the image of her younger self that Jane had conjured. Where did that come from? She shook her head. "I, she… would have struggled. Too inexperienced."

"Exactly." Jane nodded as if his point had been made.

"So you're saying I'm good at my job because I've been doing it for a long time. No doubt your point is that your ability to read and manipulate people isn't just a knack but the product of lots of hard work."

"Et Voila!" Said with more than a hint of condescension, like a school master praising an average student who'd finally learnt the lesson.

Lisbon exhaled in irritation. God he could be such an asshole at times. Well two could play that game.

"So all this drama is about you feeling under-appreciated?"

"No." Jane lied. He frowned. Somehow the conversation had veered out of his control. Lisbon's casual categorisation of his powers had stung a little. His powers of reading and suggestion had been painfully acquired over a long period of time. From a young age his dad had started moulding his talents and Jane had been a willing accomplice. Even as a kid he'd realised it was his ticket to a better life.

He'd spent years practicing the art of the con under the cold hearted tutelage of his father. Hard lessons where every misstep had unpleasant consequences from a missed meal to broken bones when the old man left him at the mercy of the wronged party.

Then further years of grind as he was trying to make it as a solo act, desperate to get Angie out of the menial drudgery that put food on their table. Then, when they'd final made it and were living their dream life the 'gift' suddenly turned into a curse. It fed his arrogance until his mindless boasting taught him a final lesson so cruel he could never erase it. Jane's lips turned downward as he tasted once more the bitter pain of his loss.

He took a deep breath, trying to quell the sickness that still rose within him every time he thought of his murdered wife and child. This wasn't the time to mourn; he wasn't ready to share his pain with someone else, doubted he ever would be. Years of practice smoothed his features into studied indifference. With an effort he willed himself back into the moment, into the warm cabin alongside his colleague.

A crooked smile was playing on Lisbon's face.

Still feeling a little vulnerable, Jane frowned. "What are you smiling for."

"Oh nothing. I just realised something, that's all."

"Realised what?" Said warily.

"That you care what I think of you. Not so aloof after all, are you."

Jane grew defensive. That's not it. That's not it at all! I just don't want you dismissing my hard won abilities in front of joe public…"

"Oh, so now you care what others think…"

Indignantly. "No!"

"I've really rattled your cage this time haven't I…"

"Peace, woman!"

In truth, however, the pain in his chest was beginning to ease. This was familiar territory, bickering with Lisbon. It was grounding. The good natured sparring, the snap and crackle of their spirited to and fro. The notion this tough, prickly, yet caring woman wouldn't tolerate his nonsense was oddly calming. His life was a mess and it was his decisions that had landed him there. At least there was one person who could see through his charade and was willing to call him out when he crossed the line.

He deliberately prolonged their banter, letting the words cover over the ache in his heart. Just for a while. Just for the space of a few hours on the road. For just long enough to pull him back from the precipice. Everyone needed someone who cared. Even Jane.


	4. Chapter 4 - Only In My Mind

Jane spent a lot of time daydreaming. There was a limit to how much even a revenge obsessed mind could go over the same case files, recall the same crime scenes or attempt to jump from the ruts of the same worn out conclusions.

Most people could find solace in sleep; perchance, as it were, to dream. Jane and Morpheus were old enemies, however. They circled each other through the night like two old prize fighters. Evenly matched, neither gained the upper hand for long and more often than not fought out an exhausting draw.

Oftentimes wearied beyond enduring, Jane found it increasingly harder to stick to his task. With his family unavenged he couldn't afford the luxury of madness, so when the strain of his existence threatened to overwhelm he escaped into waking dream.

Oh what strange and bloody worlds he trod when he pictured finally getting his hands on Red John. What exquisite and varied torments he carried out, the abject pleas from his ruined nemesis ringing sweeter than music in his ears.

Even sweeter than victory was dreaming the act would re-unite him with Angela and Charlotte. By some miracle his waking mind could never believe in his family would be restored. He would rise bloody from the corpse and receive absolution in their arms. The world would be made right.

When travelling down that road the strength of his passion would often shake him to full consciousness. He'd come to himself in some lonely room, tears brimming at the corner of his eyes; hands literally shaking with unspent passion.

Those daydreams he had to administer carefully like strong medicine. Jane would divide his mind, using one half to clinically assess just how far gone the other half was. He would prescribe one of his revenge fantasies when things were particularly bleak, but sparingly. There was real danger in going down that road too often. The fantasy was sweeter than any narcotic, if fed too often it could utterly devour him.

More often his mind journeyed to days past with his family. He could recall some happy moments with painful clarity, re-living precious moments when he was fully whole. More often, however, he recalled days that were less than ideal. Times where he fobbed off Charlotte with empty promises, or left Angela alone at home while he chased the next dollar, forced his way ruthlessly up the next rung.

He'd been a good husband and father by and large; he clung to that as an article of faith. But as he reviewed his life he was appalled to realise just how much of it had been wasted. How many perfect days had he spent with Angela? How many hours just playing with Charlotte? He was shamed at how low the count was.

A part of him knew this was merely the human condition, that the hum drum of life could only allow so many highlights. Nevertheless, most people were blessed with a lifetime to add to the treasure trove of their memories. He'd had so much less and not a whit of sense in enjoying the bounty that had lain before him. Thoughts of his family then, were a safer indulgence, though the price in fresh grief was high, it helped to reaffirm his resolve.

Other daydreams he used to test himself. To ponder scenarios where he had to take certain actions to achieve his vengeance. How far was he willing to go? Was there a limit to the physical price he would pay? What of his few remaining friendships or principles? Could all he knew be cast in the furnace of hatred or were some things a price too high for even him?

He needed no dreams to tell him the answer. Needed only to recollect the weight of a shotgun in his hands. The shock of disbelief at the lead he'd sacrificed. He'd thrust the gun away as though a venomous serpent, but only after the fact.

He could also recall standing by Lisbon when she'd been trapped in an explosive vest. His fear had centred on the danger to her life. Not for one second had he considered his own safety. A man who considered himself the perfect instrument of vengeance would have acted differently. Would have made the percentage play and gotten the hell out of there.

He couldn't afford to be so weak again so he used his daydreams to explore his limits. Test himself with scenarios that required a sacrifice or an unpleasant act to advance his goals. He was never sure what frightened him more, the things he was willing to do or the things he wasn't. He walked the knife edge between hatred and a desire for retaining some humanity.

His daydreams, then, were self-administered therapy. In the solitude of his attic or hotel room, or even the more public refuge of his couch, he sent his mind questing hither and thither through his disordered mind. The only boundary he didn't cross was into thoughts of a life after Red John. To think of a possible future after his vengeance could compromise what he might be required to do.

Jane knew there was no man more dangerous than the one who had nothing to lose. His occasional human weaknesses had already compromised this ideal state. He couldn't risk thoughts of a future placing further shackles on his behaviour. The tiny flame of hope had to be carefully banked. Allow it too much air and it could burst to life and immolate his quest. Starve it too much and he would no longer care about what he'd lost. It was a delicate balance and he had to manage it to a nicety.

When he pondered his aversion to human frailty he recalled to mind a fragment of verse. Poetry had been more Angie's thing and this particular poet had never appealed. Jane's background didn't come with a sense of middle class guilt, nor desire to relive the misery of poverty. Still, the man could string some words together…

 _there's a bluebird in my heart that_

 _wants to get out_

 _but I'm too clever, I only let him out_

 _at night sometimes_

 _when everybody's asleep._

 _I say, I know that you're there,_

 _so don't be_

 _sad_

 _then I put him back,_

The poem was apt. Hope had to be carefully rationed. Allow it the freedom of his dreams and it would ruin all his plans. Without it, however, there was no point in living. So he kept it alive. Only just. Just in case. In case he did finally succeed. Then, if he was lucky, he might find a way to let the bluebird out.

 **A/N: This one got away from me completely and I ended up writing something entirely different from what I had intended. The excerpt was from a poem by Charles Bukowski entitled Bluebird. I have sufficient middle class guilt to have both myself and Jane covered** **.**


	5. Chapter 5 - Just a Kiss

**Just a Kiss**

Head bowed, Jane retreated down the seductively lit corridor. He didn't make eye contact with the security detail but he could feel their knowing gaze at his back. The plush carpet swallowed his footfalls and denied him a distraction from the guards' banal snickering. Internally he could hear his father's voice sneer at him for being a sucker, for thinking he was a player when he'd just gotten played.

Erica Flynn was meant to be a test. Her unexpected call had caught him at a vulnerable point in time. His pursuit of Red John had started to morph into a dance, one in which Jane was growing to suspect he was the one being twirled about to the other's lead. To make matters worse the FBI in the person of Agent Darcy was convinced he was in league with the man for whom his hatred was so strong it made his teeth ache.

Pride made him appear dismissive of the threat posed by the FBI but this neither soothed his worries nor mollified Lisbon. She was unhappy with him and as he'd once prophetically stated to Hightower, when Lisbon was unhappy, he was less happy.

All in all his carefully maintained little life had started to feel a little out of control. When Erica resurfaced and began playing her transparent mind games he'd seized on it as a much needed distraction. Besides the promise of diversion, Flynn was a worthy player, someone who could fully appreciate his talents, even admire them. It was a long time since he'd matched wits with someone like that. The fact he could take a little dig at Lisbon and her tiresome air of disapproval was a nice little bonus.

Initially it had been a lot of fun. Lisbon's reaction had been everything he'd hoped it would be and having Wainwright swallow the bait was like flipping tuna onto a boat. Erica had also lived up to expectation. The femme fatale had wasted no time in attempting to ensnare him in her net of seduction. Jane took great pleasure in rebuffing her every advance, safe in the knowledge she wouldn't tire in her attempts.

It had been so nice to feel fully in control. Erica was hell bent on seducing him in order to facilitate her escape, hence he knew exactly what she was doing and why. Not for a moment did he believe her interest in him was anything beyond a means to an end. Oh she sold her attraction to him very well, he'd grant her that. Nevertheless she was driven by one sole desire and all he had to do was remember that and he could anticipate her every move.

Lisbon, of course, was equally obvious in her eagerness to get Flynn off the case and safely back into prison. When he compared the two women Jane couldn't help be amused at how different they were. Erica was seductive and subtle; Lisbon was tough and transparent. Yet it was Flynn who was far more predictable. What she would do in any situation was perfectly clear, whereas his partner managed to surprise him every time he thought he had her completely figured out.

Fun had been Jane's motive for bringing in Flynn and fun was what he'd had. The visit to the charity had been an unexpected delight. They'd worked together so seamlessly. Two sleek cats surveying a tankful of clueless fish, debating which one to filch for their delectation. Of course he could have found Eldridge himself but watching a fellow pro go through their paces had been a rare pleasure. He'd indulged in their mutual admiration society quite shamelessly.

Dinner had followed on quite naturally. Erica moderated her overly seductive approach and led Jane in a game of analysing their fellow diners to discern which couples were thriving in their relationship and which were on the rocks. Despite his wariness, Jane found himself enjoying the evening. In the field of assessing romantic attachment Erica's skills were almost as great as his own and he very much enjoyed the novel sensation of having a worthy sparring partner.

As the evening progressed the warning voice in the back of Jane's head grew quieter. It was still there but the pleasure of the evening made him want to ignore it.

As they made serious inroads into a second bottle of a particularly wicked Malbec, Jane realised how much he'd missed enjoying a fine meal in pleasant female company. Almost involuntarily he compared dinner with Erica to his disastrous date with Kristina Frye. There was no comparison. With Frye he'd spent half his energy trying to analyse her motives and the other half trying to suppress a growing sense of guilt.

This was different, he told himself. He knew exactly what Erica wanted and he knew he wasn't going to give it to her. If anything, it made the evening all the sweeter for the assurance he knew precisely what was going on.

There was, of course, the other woman with whom he'd shared numerous meals. He stifled a smile at the thought of how the dinner would have gone down with Lisbon as a disapproving third wheel. Haute cuisine and fancy surroundings were not much to Lisbon's taste, though he knew she would have been happy enough to put away the wine.

He enjoyed Lisbon's company, always had. But there was always a layer of combativeness to their conversation. They were more like comrades in arms swapping insults and war stories than two like-minded individuals playing a teasing game of seduction. Not that there was going to be any of that, Jane hastily told himself. What he and Flynn were doing was an act on both sides.

The evening drew to a close and as they left the restaurant they were joined by their security detail. Jane could have left things there but he was strangely reluctant to call it a night. He decided to test things further by offering to accompany her back to her room

Erica stood close to him in the elevator. Jane smiled inwardly. If she thought desire would overwhelm his judgement she had another thing coming. In truth, Jane wasn't sure he was capable of functioning in that way anymore.

The romance of his presumed celibacy, while never acknowledged, was something that drew esteem from both Lisbon and Van Pelt. He truly wished he was worthy of it but in truth it was more than loyalty to his dead wife that had preserved his virtue.

Years ago in his early stages of grief he'd gone to bars to try and escape the inside of his head. On one occasion he'd been too far gone or too intoxicated to fend off the approach of a lonely woman. When it came time to seal the deal, however, he wasn't able to function.

Jane wasn't too upset, just put it down to the drink, but when a sense of obligation made him try again in the morning the same thing happened. Or rather didn't. To his eternal shame he resorted to hypnotism and suggestion to leave his companion with the memory of a faux night of passion.

He brooded over it for months. On one hand he was grateful that he hadn't found pleasure in a moment of weakness; he certainly didn't deserve it. At the same time, however, the lack of performance nagged at him. Jane might have been exceptional in many ways but fundamentally he was still a man, with a man's usual insecurities. Except in this case it appeared he wasn't a usual man at all…

A good while later, after he'd joined the CBI, he had another moment of weakness. It was triggered by the case involving the murderous widow Jennifer Sands. He'd been messing with Lisbon when he said he was attracted to the suspect but there'd been a tiny element of truth to it. Then, when the sultry mistress Adriana had suggested he was gay it stung just a tiny little bit more than it should. Just enough to get him thinking again about the old failure.

When a willowy blonde hit on him that weekend he'd decided to go with the flow. Same result again. No dice. He'd fled all the way back to his house in Malibu after that misadventure. A long day of introspection and mental self-flagellation led him to decide to embrace his body's betrayal. After all it was a betrayal that he entirely deserved. He used it to hone his rage at Red John to an even finer edge. It was something else the killer had taken away from him.

Subsequently he avoided putting himself in harm's way if there was any chance his resolve might crumble. His monk-like way of living served him well. Removing sex and romance from the equation allowed him to focus more keenly on what truly mattered.

Oh, he wasn't a saint by any means. Thankfully when his body grew too frustrated he could at least find release at his own hand. That was purely mechanical, however, a bit of infrequent maintenance that was required to keep things running at optimum. It was of no more consequence than a wheel realignment or an oil change.

Now he was in Erica's room and he felt as though he was observing himself at a remove. She really was very good, he could admire her skillful blend of suggestion and seduction. He knew her words were false and yet her body language screamed that it was true. He found himself almost wishing it was, even as he verbally parried her every line of attack.

He maintained his cool, detached façade but internally he acknowledged how much they were alike. He speculated she must be equally thrilled to be with someone who perceived the subtle world of human interaction in same way. They were the only clear sighted people in a world of the blind and half blind.

Erica advanced until she was almost pressed against his body, her eyes locked onto his. If he were carrying out this seduction, Jane mused to himself, it would be the perfect time to clinch it with a kiss. He moved his head a fraction, rapidly scanned her features, looking for a tell that might signal a rebuff. He saw now sign of it, indeed every line of her body signalled her confidence and desire as the distance closed between them.

Feeling like a man who flirts with the temptation off jumping of a cliff, Jane leaned forward to meet Erica.

His detachment was stripped away at the first touch of her lips. The shock of human contact grounded him in his body and he felt overwhelmed by her proximity, her femininity. Soft skin, subtle fragrances, delicate fingers like wisps of silk across the back of his neck. Lust and attraction entwined with murderous perversion and sinful wickedness.

He was a parched traveller plunged into crystalline water, a beggar set before a sumptuous banquet. All he could sense, touch, feel, taste was Erica Flynn and all notion of his control was exposed as mere delusion. His traitorous body betrayed him once as it roared fully, embarrassingly to life.

For one long, hungry second he deepened the kiss and gave himself to sensual abandon before the guilt that always festered in the darkest recess of his mind bloomed forth in a sickening bouquet of self-loathing. Jane pulled back, his body made ill at the thought of what he'd almost succumbed to, the dishonour he'd been about to commit upon the memory of his wife.

He strove for control but the shame and guilt and vulnerability that leaked from his eyes surprised even Erica's clinical heart. His jacket had fallen to the floor when he'd been senseless in her arms and as Jane slowly bent to retrieve it he fought to regain his composure. It wouldn't come.

Wordless, he retreated from her room in utter defeat. His final look was one of accusation before he turned away.

 ** _A/N:_ _I could have gone further but this seemed a good point to end things. We have the actual episode to show us what happened next._**


	6. Chapter 6 - Cowardly Lion

**Cowardly Lion**

Lisbon collapsed into her chair with a weary sigh. Out in the bullpen Jane was swooning on his couch like a Victorian woman who'd caught the vapours. Van Pelt was solicitously offering him a cup of tea while Rigsby stood nervously at hand with an icepack. Even Cho had quit reading and was watching the proceedings with a concerned eye.

The senior agent massaged her sore shoulder. As the circus around Jane played out she tried to swallow her resentment at the lack of attention. The pill was no less bitter for the fact she'd been the one to shoot down any offers of help. She should be grateful, really. Had the others not been around she might have had to care for Jane herself and she hadn't particularly felt like navigating that emotional minefield.

Cho's eyes drifted from the medical drama to Lisbon's office. She gave him a small nod, reassuring him all was well. The warm glow at someone sparing her a thought soothed right up to the point where she reached for the mouse. The move sent a sharp jolt through her wrist, eliciting a yelp of pain.

Trying to shake out the sensation, Lisbon rued her decision to crash tackle the man beating on Jane. The smart thing would have been to draw her firearm and tell him to back off. She wasn't getting any younger and the perps weren't getting any smaller.

She hadn't, though. She'd taken the most direct, physical way to protecting her consultant. Lisbon was honest enough to admit she'd enjoyed the reverent look Cho and Rigsby exchanged on witnessing the latest evidence of their boss' prowess. The near worshipful look in Van Pelt's eyes hadn't done her self-esteem any harm either. It made waving off any concern that much easier though in truth there were spots flashing before her eyes when she'd stepped up from cuffing Buchwald.

It was Jane's look of naked relief though, that had been her true reward. Trey Buchwald wasn't a particularly impressive physical specimen but when he'd suddenly launched into Jane the consultant's only move was to curl into a ball and cry for help. It was the perfect microcosm of Jane's behaviour. On the one hand he provoked, even invited violence to his person without any concern for personal safety and yet when the blows did come he immediately shrank back in abject terror.

He was such a strange mix of bravery and cowardice and it was an ongoing source of puzzlement to Lisbon that she wasn't repelled by his physical incompetence. It was a trait should wouldn't tolerate in a colleague or subordinate, _or even a boyfriend_.

With a groan Lisbon swivelled her chair away from the bullpen. She tried to concentrate on her computer but her legendary work ethic failed her. A glance at the clock revealed it was too early to go home for a soak in a hot bath.

Failing that then, a coffee would be nice. Too bad she felt too physically weary to drag herself into the kitchen for a cup of the horrid brew that percolated away all day like a black hearted hourglass.

She'd have to deal with this one old school. She dug into her shoulder bag and retrieved a sadly battered water bottle, it's once pristine picture of snowy mountains smudged and crinkled. Lisbon brow creased in distaste but anything beat trying to dry swallow a couple of Aleve. She tried not to retch as the pills scraped her throat on the way down.

Blessedly the tablets stayed down. Now it was just a matter of waiting and giving the drugs time to insinuate themselves into her bloodstream and work their soothing magic on her abused muscles. She closed her eyes and recalled Jane's words when he used his mentalist quackery to con away someone's hurt. Damned if it didn't work. Just by listening she could feel herself drift away like a curl of smoke on the wind.

Sometimes the temptation to let Jane talk her worries away pulled at her like a magnet. It was exhausting to be the one always in control, to be the one others looked to for orders or assurance. It was how it had to be, however. She lived in a tough world and she'd long ago learned that especially as a woman, any sign of weakness could be used to bring you down.

Lisbon had fought hard for acceptance in law enforcement. The institution was still dominated by men and an old fashioned notion of a woman's place. Oh the rhetoric was up to date, the diversity quotas and the training on appropriate behaviour.

It was mainly for show, however. It gilded a layer of civilisation over something far more crude and bigoted. What good a seminar on anti-harassment when the men snickered and referred to it as 'harassment training'? Was a quota of any use when it was used to undermine the women who were promoted for their competence?

Granted the CBI was a little better than SAC PD, the coating of decency a few layer thicker. It was a good thing Lisbon wasn't an idealist in that fight. She'd established her boundaries but otherwise kept her head down. She might be half the size but she was twice as tough as most of her male colleague and whip smart to boot. She'd gotten ahead the old fashioned way, by being better and working harder. Not a polemicist, she preferred her actions and example to serve as inspiration.

The people she liked and admired were much like herself. Physically capable, self-reliant, competent. Colleagues who fell short of the mark were swiftly written off. Oh she didn't show it, was always professional and polite, but beyond that she wouldn't give them the time of day. She had no time for cowards, watchers or big noters.

Then there was Jane. She shouldn't like him, really she shouldn't. Not only was he a physical coward but he didn't even hide the fact. He was positively un-manly when fists started flying.

Yet calling him a coward didn't quite fit the bill. His emotional courage was remarkable. Very few people were improved by tragedy but he was one soul who undoubtedly was. Beyond that he demonstrated his emotional resilience time and again. Reverses that would crush the spirit of an ordinary person merely made him all the more determined to succeed.

Jane's determination to find justice for his family was inspiring. Lisbon had often pondered how powerful his love must have been, how much of himself he'd invested in his family. She tried to imagine finding someone who would care about her that much and failed. A love such as Jane's she'd long concluded, was something outside the realms of the ordinary. It was something so powerful it demanded respect, even awe from anyone capable of finer feelings.

This, she realised, was why it didn't bother her when he taunted suspects and then hid behind her. Even if it placed her in danger her irritation or momentary contempt were not enough to dampen the deep respect she had for his devotion.

Beside all that Jane wasn't a man from her world. He'd had no training, wasn't hardened by pounding the streets in uniform or serving his country in some distant hellhole. He been dropped into a world of bloodshed and violence without any preparation at all. It was a wonder he wasn't a screaming head case.

A ping from her Blackberry pulled Lisbon back into her office. After responding to the text from the deputy AG she checked the time and was surprised to see it was after five. The drugs were clearly working because she felt no discomfort at all, just a floating sensation like she'd already climbed into her hot bath.

Inside the bullpen the team had largely dispersed. Grace was the last out, pausing to make a final check on Jane. Lisbon swung her attention to him. With his audience gone, he'd stopped fidgeting and relaxed back into his couch. His hair was completely mussed with golden strands pointing crazily in all directions. Instead of detracting from his appearance it leant him a leonine air.

Lisbon smiled at the sight. Her cowardly lion with a heart strong enough to keep beating despite the depth of his loss. A hater of violence who nevertheless inhabited that world in order to find justice for his family. A craven provocateur who refused to seek the easy path and move on from his loss despite the travail of the years pursuing Red John.

Lisbon gathered her things and regretfully slipped a laptop into her shoulder bag. She could foresee a long night spent catching up on work, though only after fulfilling her self-promise of a long, therapeutic soaking.

Stepping through the bullpen, her feet lead her to Jane. Greatly daring, Lisbon sat on the corner of the couch and nudged his legs out of the way with her bottom. Jane groaned theatrically, then cracked a glance at her around the icepack held ostentatiously to his cheek.

She shot him a sideways glace. "Word to the wise, Jane. If you're going to provoke people, don't lead with the face."

The icepack dropped, revealing an impressive bruise that was already starting to purple. "Good advice, Lisbon," he winced. "I'll try to keep that in mind."

Her look turned challenging. "Shouldn't be hard, assuming your memory palace isn't just another of your shams."

The fish chose to bite. "Peace, Lisbon! Question my fighting prowess as much as you want, I'm more than happy to leave mindless displays of brutality to you cops. My mind, however, is a thing or rare wonder and I won't have it questioned."

"A rare wonder," Lisbon echoed drolly. "The way you set it up to be punched I'd say it's downright endangered with a real possibility of extinction." She pushed herself to her feet, hoping to escape with the last word."

Jane didn't miss the faint groan that accompanied Lisbon's manoeuvre. "Be sure to take that long bath you were planning!" The subtle hitch in her retreating steps was enough to tell him he'd scored a hit.

Smiling to himself Jane lay down on the couch then groaned theatrically when his bruised cheek came into contact with the leather. Buchwald hadn't even been the killer. Maybe there was something to what Lisbon was saying…

 _ **A/N: Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing these miscellanies. I've been surprised and touched by the response they've inspired.**_


	7. Chapter 7 - Blonde Highlights

**Blonde Highlights**

I was the first to see him enter the shop; all messy curls and a dazzling smile. The old fashioned three piece was cute, really worked for him. A little worn maybe but he sure knew how to wear it. Yep, this was A-grade material from top to bottom. I took a second to admire him, it was such a nice change from our usual run of fussy old dames and stressed mothers of four.

I should have been quicker off the mark. While I was standing there catching flies Lizzie elbowed old Mrs Wallace out of the way and ushered him to her chair. Bitch.

Maria and Chloe weren't far behind and soon he had a circle of admirers, and not just my desperate co-workers. I could see old Mrs Elliot and Elizabeth Andrews craning their wrinkled necks to get a better look. Their happy little clucks and sighs made me think of old hens remembering their favourite chicks from yesteryear.

Maria takes his jacket and a swear she _sniffs_ it before hanging it on the rack. The way she rubs her cheek against the material makes me think of a tom cat around a piece of catnip. That girl has no shame at all. Anyway, back to the man in question.

He said his name was _Patrick_ and he was just there for a trim. Luckily my brain snapped into gear while they were suggesting different styles (Heath Ledger? _Really?_ ). I had the basin ready before they realised where I was at. I might have stepped a little too hard on Maria's toes to get her to move but it was totally worth it to sink my fingers into those glorious curls.

I think we made some small talk while I massaged his scalp but to be honest I can't remember. I'm pretty sure I dropped a little drool on him at one point but luckily he thought it was the shampoo. All the time I was bringing his hair to a lather I could feel Lizzie's eyes lasering my back. I wouldn't be needing a wax for a month the way she was amping up her glare.

I have to work with her every Tuesday, Wednesday and Saturday mornings so I reluctantly hurried it up. It was probably for the best because I was definitely going to embarrass myself by actually vocalising my internal moans of pleasure. I mean his hair was _perfect_. Thick and golden and with just the right amount of curl. When you're a hair stylist you dream of working with hair like this instead of the limp, stringy hair of some overworked waitress with dandruff fit to fill a snow globe.

I'd barely rinsed out the last of the suds before Lizzie moved on him with a hot fluffy towel. That girl has an impressive rack and she aint backward in shoving them forward when a man catches her eye. Still, I've never seen her dry hair by throwing a towel over the person's face and then leaning forward until he had a boob resting against either ear.

Patrick half rose out of his chair in alarm and we might well have lost him there and then if Maria hadn't dragged Lizzie back by her hair. I was going to seize my chance but Chloe pulled rank and made me take on Justine and her horrible nails.

Things settled down after that. Chloe got to work and I swear she was cutting his hair a blade at a time. Not that anyone in the salon was complaining. Could that man talk! His voice could have charmed birds from the trees (or us from our panties). It wasn't a half hour before he had Lizzie confessing to sleeping with her best friend's man and Maria admitting she had unresolved issues with her mother. Not long after that he was encouraging Chloe to leave that no hoper who was bleeding her dry. It was so nice to talk to a man who actually listened!

Patrick eventually got around to me and told me something about not seeking validation from men. What the hell does that even mean? Am I some sort of bus ticket? Whatever. I didn't let it bother me, I was too excited he was paying me some attention.

The whole salon was hanging on his every word and I couldn't remember working a nicer morning. The only downer was when Chloe fingered his frayed collar and commented his wife should take better care of him. I swear it was like big black cloud passed over the sun. He explained he was a widower, poor man.

All this time Lizzie was scheming for a way to get back into the action. When Chloe's haircut was finally over she sashayed over and made her move. She played it smart, complementing Chloe on a great job and then innocently asking Patrick if he'd like blonde highlights like Brad Pitt in Ocean's 11.

I could see Patrick was going to refuse so I rushed forward and praised Lizzie's skills to the heavens. I'd have said anything to get that man to stay a little longer but in this case it was true. Lizzie might have her faults but she's a diva with a dye bottle, a peroxide prima donna.

I don't know if it was the thought of looking like Brad Pitt or maybe just the way I asked but after looking a little sad for a second he said he said why not, it wasn't like he had anything else to do on a Saturday. I couldn't hold back my excited grin. He actually listened to me!

Pretty soon he was cheerful again and had us all laughing at his silly jokes and tricks. He started guessing our stars signs and darned if he didn't get every single one right. By now I wasn't even bothering to pretend to be doing Justine's nails. Not that she was complaining given the eye candy in front of her.

Justine's husband drives trucks all day and is hairier than most things you'd find in the zoo. I won't even talk about what sitting in a truck all day does to your ass. Let's just say when he leaves the shop in his low rider jeans you'd swear you were staring at the grand canyon.

After the blonde highlights were done, Maria gave him a manicure and I was just trying to decide if it was worth risking those horrible brown shoes to offer a pedicure when _she_ walked in. A little bit of a woman who gave off vibes like she owned the place. I don't know how she pulled it off but this lady had _presence_ and she didn't seem too happy with what she was looking at.

This angry miss walked right up to Patrick and kicked him in the foot! I watched with interest, expecting him to tell her to take a hike but instead he smiled so wide I realised all the ones he'd given us that morning were just cheap imitations.

He called her Lisbon or something, which I guess explained why she tried to dress like a man. Why he gave her the time of day I'll never know. She was _so_ out of his league. I mean sure she had these big green eyes and a tight little bod but what guy wants that when he can grab himself a big loving handful instead? Besides, she had _bangs_. Someone needed to tell her it wasn't the 90s and that shit don't fly no more.

She must have noticed me staring because she glared in my direction and said "what?" It was all I could do to snap my mouth shut. That actually made her roll her eyes and then she went right back to laying into poor Patrick. She was yelling something about them having a case and that he wasn't to leave his phone in the car.

Patrick didn't seem bothered at all. He patted the seat next to him and told her to relax and get a mani pedi but she just grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the chair. He barely had time to wave us all goodbye and throw some money at the till before she hustled him out the door. I think Mrs. Elliott actually started to cry.

Chloe, Maria, Lizzie and me just stared dumbfounded. Didn't she realise she had a man-god on her hands? She should have been getting down on her knees and thanking God for every day she got to look at those curls and that smile. Instead she looked at him like he was a plate of chopped liver. Talk about not appreciating what you got.

She paused in the doorway. Instead of staring at Patrick's ass like a sensible person she looked back at us. Then I saw it, this little happy smirk. Oh yeah, she knew what she had… She just didn't like to share.

Lucky bitch.

 _ **A/N: I've been battling writer's block for over a month and it took something very silly to shake it off. Hope this wasn't too over the top.**_


	8. Chapter 8 - Tough Conversation

**Tough conversation**

The mid-morning flight to DC hurtled down the runway. This time there wasn't a cabin invasion by a love crazed consultant. It was a mixed blessing because now there'd be no last minute reprieve from her self-imposed duty. The 737's engines thrummed with power as they dragged nearly 60 tonnes of metal skyward. To Lisbon it felt like her body might finally re-unite with her heart which was surely still floating somewhere above.

She eased back into her seat with an involuntary sigh. The previous 24 hours had left her physically and emotionally exhausted. Fortunately this was offset by the pleasant ache in her loins and the certitude she was finally doing what was right. For someone as principled and moral as Lisbon, that feeling was almost as important as the happiness she'd finally found.

Lisbon's decision to exit the plane and visit Jane in TSA detention had been her first good decision in months. The consequence, however, was that she was on her way to a very difficult meeting with Marcus Pike. It was a mission that should have filled her with dread but the relief of finally acting in accordance with her heart was a powerful antidote.

Recollecting her calm interrogation of Jane was enough to leave her suffused with pleasure. To have finally gained her heart's desire despite so many missteps was nothing short of a miracle. It very nearly hadn't come to pass.

Ever since Jane plucked her from out of Canon River she'd allowed, fear, anger and petty spite to rule her behaviour. Her moral compass, normally so infallible, had lost its bearing after the upheaval from Red John's killing.

The fallout from McAllister's murder had badly shaken her self-image of a good cop with strong morals. Caught up in the Blake Association scandal she'd found herself discredited and licking her wounds in humdrum Canon River. Small town police matters hadn't been sufficient to distract her from second guessing every decision she made during the final months of the Red John investigation. Self-recrimination was a way of doing penance though for precisely what crime she wasn't sure.

Jane's return had been as unexpected as a summer blizzard. His melancholy letters of self-reflection and self-reproach contrasted sharply with his deep tan and beach bum vibe. The hint of some dalliance with the icy Kim Fischer left Lisbon off balance and insecure. Who was this man?

Then just as swiftly as he'd appeared, he'd gone. Thrown into detention while she was left twisting her heart into knots back in Canon River. Equally unexpectedly they were re-united for a top secret case. It was a cruel reminder of what it felt like to actually matter. A half day on the job with barely a chance to re-kindle something with her former best friend and then Jane was running off again. She was left to deal with the feds who only saw her as a fringe benefit demanded by the talented Mr. Jane.

It had been humiliating to be reduced to some sort of emotional sop for the highly prized if unstable consultant. The less innocent connotation of being part of Jane's conditions hadn't escaped Lisbon either. How could it when Fischer had all but accused her of holding Jane in some kind of sexual thrall. In the privacy of her bed that night she'd been unable to banish thoughts of being used to seduce Jane. Her treacherous mind conjured one lurid scenario after another as she guiltily slipped a hand between her thighs.

That was when the fear started. After her father's death she'd vowed to never rely on someone again. Years of living in fear of a man who tipped half his pay check down his throat before terrorising his family had left deep scars. It was a promise she never compromised through college and her early career in law enforcement. It even held true throughout her partnership with Jane. He might be the golden child but she was the team leader and had proven that she could still do her job (albeit it joylessly) in his absence.

The return to Canon River brought home just how much of her happiness was wrapped up in a man incapable of sharing his true self or offering anything beyond workplace companionship. She'd still been coming to terms with that realisation when she was whisked back to Austin, this time to seal the deal on Jane's demands. She'd swallowed her pride and taken the job offer. The acknowledgement she'd had no real choice in the matter made her resent Jane a little and they never quite managed to re-establish their old familiarity.

She'd thought Jane might make a move to take their relationship forwards but he showed no sign of wanting to disturb their awkward status quo. When she'd played up her date with Ardilles it had been a test that fell entirely flat. Jane hadn't shown any concern at all and she was left wondering why she continued to torture herself with the belief there could be something more.

Enter Marcus Pike. Lisbon flushed as she thought over her whirlwind romance. The attention was flattering certainly, and Marcus was a fine enough specimen. Still she couldn't escape the fact her decision to rush headlong into a relationship had an element of calculation to it. She was as much prisoner to her biology as the next woman and this could well have been her last opportunity for a conventional ever after. All the time, however, her heart had been crying no, no, no and looking to a deeply damaged man to somehow save not only himself but her as well.

Finally he had, though of course it was messy and awkward and now she had to try and fix things as usual. She should have been tearing her hair out in frustration but instead she smiled ruefully. She was flying to meet with Pike and explain just why she'd texted him to decline his marriage proposal and a life together in DC. It wasn't an act she was proud of but at the same time it was the bare minimum she'd had to do in order to justify consummating a relationship with Jane.

Their first union at the Bluebird Hotel had been tender and hesitant and awkward and more emotionally overwhelming than physically satisfying. The next morning Lisbon had been first to wake. There should have been a hundred concerns weighing on her, guilt foremost, but instead all she felt was overwhelming happiness.

She'd studied Jane's face in repose, the lines that were somewhat smoothed in sleep, the golden hair that framed his features like a messy halo. She'd kissed him gently to wake him, then stirred by mischief had administered a tiny bite to speed up the process. Jane's eyes snapped open and he'd pinned her with a look that conveyed exactly what he planned to do to her. Ten years of repression and self-consciousness was burned away in the fierceness of their coupling.

Jane would have been happy to bask all day in the afterglow but Lisbon had regretfully cut it short. There could be no proper future until she flew back to DC to lay to rest her past with Marcus. Jane had been too dazed to raise much of an objection and besides, neither of them was concerned about another change of heart from Lisbon; they'd laid irrevocable claim to each other.

The cabin pinged as the plane began its descent. Lisbon tried to think of what to say to Marcus but her mind drew a blank. How do you explain the take back of a proposal acceptance, especially when your reasons for agreeing were so poor? A spate of terse texts had already established Lisbon would make her own way to the high end apartment Marcus had found for them.

Leaving Pike stuck with a one year lease on a place larger than he now needed was just one of many pieces of glass Lisbon's guilty conscience would have to crawl over. Yet her heart was still singing. Jane felt the same way about her as she did about him. Their long years of friendship had chipped away at their sharp edges until finally they were just the right fit for each other. It made her want to burst into song, to run and dance and jump, anything to release some of the energy vibrating through her sinews.

Her cab pulled up outside the tastefully modern condo. Looking around the quiet suburbia, Lisbon felt like an unfaithful housewife sneaking home after a night of illicit passion. Her sense of guilt increased as she hesitantly knocked on the door.

Marcus stood revealed in sweatpants and a tattered T-shirt. Part of Lisbon was relieved. Had he spruced himself up she might have feared an attempt to win her back, which would have made things even more awkward.

He stepped well back to let her in. Lisbon forced herself to meet his eyes as she entered. It was time to own her behaviour.

Marcus said nothing, just looked at her accusingly. Lisbon looked away and took in the contents of the room. Marcus had clearly thrown himself into unpacking his belongings. The state of several ripped boxes strewn around the room also spoke to the anger he'd experienced. Catching her gaze, he flushed and put a little more space between them.

Lisbon squared her shoulders and started in. "I'm sorry Marcus, I just wasn't ready to drop everything and move to DC with you. I should have been more honest with myself and not caused you this pain." Her voice trailed off and she winced at how lame she sounded.

Marcus regarded her silently for a second, his brow furrowing as he tried to understand where things might have gone wrong. It was his turn to look aside. "I have to ask… Did you come to this conclusion by yourself or did someone prompt you with this realisation. Only I've heard some crazy rumours coming out of Florida and I just want to hear the truth."

Lisbon swallowed heavily. She'd been clinging to the small hope she wouldn't have to talk about plane incident. "Jane got onto my flight as it was about to take off and told me some things that made me change my mind about coming to DC."

Marcus' lips curled into a cynical smile. "He must have sold you a hell of a story."

Lisbon's eyes narrowed a fraction. She would gladly carry the guilt of her own bad actions but she was damned if she'd allow what happened to be regarded as just another Jane con. "It wasn't like that. All he did was tell me how he felt. That was it. He didn't ask me to leave the plane or stay with him or anything. He left me to make my own choice."

Pike failed to keep the anger from his face. "So all the time we were together you were looking over my shoulder to see what Jane would do… That's a pretty shitty thing to do to someone, Teresa."

Lisbon sagged back onto one of her boxes. A sudden onset of introspection robbed her of a reply. She couldn't help feeling there was an element of truth to Pike's accusation.

Taking her silence as an admission Pike pressed on. "You know I asked around if you and Jane were an item. Had anyone told me you were I would have stayed the hell away. I wonder what you would have said if I'd asked you directly?"

Lisbon pressed a weary hand to her forehead. How to explain her complex relationship with Jane, one that had spanned over 12 years? She made a snap decision to not even make the attempt. "I'm sorry Marcus but this is how it's turned out. I didn't mean for it to be like this and I take full responsibility. I'm sorry."

The anger and righteousness drained right out of Marcus. He slouched bonelessly onto a corner of his couch. "Yeah yeah. It's you, not me. That's always how these sorts of conversations go. I get it."

Lisbon nearly let it go at that, but taking in his dejected state made her realise he really was a good guy. His desire to build a life with her had been sincere and he was managing to stay pretty civil considering she'd completely shattered his carefully thought out plans. He deserved to hear the truth from her.

"The truth is, Marcus, you moved too fast and I was too scared to say anything. I thought you were my last chance at a normal life and I was determined not to let it pass. You _are_ a good man. The problem is I'm a little too messed up for normal relationships."

Pike shook his head sadly. "Don't say that Teresa. From what I can see you're definitely playing with a full deck."

Steeling herself, Lisbon looked Directly at Marcus. "I accepted your proposal and then broke things within a matter of hours. That was cruel and childish and completely messed up. You didn't deserve that."

Lisbon's words made Pike stand up in an excess of emotion. Turning from Lisbon he strode into the kitchen. Teresa listened to the tap running. She felt bad for the pain she'd caused but her heart was still singing too loud for her to wallow in crushing guilt. She distractedly noted Marcus had piled all of her boxes in one corner of the room. She could organise someone to collect it later that day.

A sense of freedom enveloped her. She was done with DC and Marcus and any pretense at settling for an unremarkable life. Now she just wanted back on a plane to Austin. She followed Marcus into the kitchen. He turned around at her step and quickly swiped a hand across his eyes.

A wave of affection and compassion made Lisbon envelope her ex-fiance in a hug. She felt him tremble a little in her embrace. Standing on tip toes she brushed a soft kiss against his cheek. "I'm sorry Marcus."

His grip tightened for a second. "I know," he replied in voice that battled for control. Lisbon smoothed his back for a second and then stepped back. Ducking her head she walked out of the room and then the apartment. The sky was dull and grey but she could breathe easily at last. Her pace picked up as she made for a main road and hopefully a cab.

Lisbon was headed back to Austin, where the sun was hot and clean and warmed you right through. She was returning to someone who was as messed up as her in all the right ways. A light rain began to fall but Lisbon marched on unconcerned. There was nothing but blue skies ahead.

 _ **A/N. I had a really hard time editing this one into shape and then** **Vinividivinci** **wrote a wonderful piece that covers a similar time period, go check that one out, it's called Airport Interlude.**_

 _ **I decided to publish this warts and all to put me out of my misery. What prompted this one was a desire to see what Lisbon might have said when she broke things off with Pike. IMO you can't get enough exploration of that moment.**_


	9. Chapter 9 - Deadly Questions

**Deadly questions**

 ** _A/N: This one was kicking around in the back of my mind for months. Writing it was the perfect antidote to Bloody Vengeance. I never thought I'd write something post White Orchids but it seemed the perfect setting for this very silly fic._**

The rising sun shining through the shutters was enough to waken Jane. He flung an arm across his eyes but it was no use, he felt wide awake. A glance to the side confirmed Lisbon was still curled up in her angry ball of the night before.

He briefly thought about sidling up alongside her for a gentle spooning session but his courage failed him. He'd managed to convince her that banishing him from the bedroom was not appropriate for working through their problems but that didn't mean she'd acquiesced graciously. He could still feel the bruise where his amorous attempt at reconciliation had been sharply rebuffed by the point of her elbow.

He took a minute to admire her sleeping form. It was largely obscured by her oversized jersey but still an enchanting sight to someone who'd slept alone for over a decade. He couldn't help but grin; who else but Lisbon could maintain their anger even in sleep?

Jane sighed. He really, really wanted to embrace her but even beyond his physical cowardice was the fear of rejection. Anger he could take, in fact the devil in him loved provoking that reaction, but if she regarded him with contempt it would shrivel his soul.

Greatly daring, he smoothed the hair from Lisbon's cheek. The action provoked a slight frown and he reluctantly got out of bed. Even he was sensible enough not to poke the bear when it was in that mood. He grimaced as he hobbled towards the shower, the stiffness in his muscles a reminder he was no longer a young man. The other stiffness could be soothed once he was in the hot water's embrace.

* * *

The kitchen was his favourite room in Lisbon's house. The morning sunshine bathed the room with warmth and the beautiful hardwood floor, tasteful appointments and lovely view of the garden never failed to bring contentment. Jane could tell the kitchen had been central to the life of the previous owners. The sense of love and familial affection suffused the very air.

He was finishing his second cup of tea when he heard the shower stop. He subconsciously began counting down the ten minutes before his love would appear. They'd only been married a couple of months but that was enough for a man who paid attention to learn most of the ins and outs of living with Lisbon.

All in all he had no complaints. There'd been some fights and silly arguments; solitary living had made them both set in their ways; but they'd never lost their genuine affection for each other, perhaps the most defining aspect of their long association.

Jane fished out a fresh filter and poured a handful of ground coffee into the percolator. Once it was running to his satisfaction he set about washing the dishes he'd refused to attend to the night before. He'd sufficiently defended his male pride and it was past time he set about restoring harmony to their lives.

When Lisbon grumped into the kitchen a few minutes later her daily ration of coffee was steaming gently on the table. Pointedly ignoring the freshly squeezed orange juice and lightly browned toast she reached hungrily for the life giving ambrosia. Burying her face in the mug she gratefully inhaled the intoxicating vapours.

"Morning my sweet!" Jane braved a glance over his shoulder to gauge her response. Lisbon was slouched in her favourite chair, mug in hand and pouring over a glossy women's magazine. Her answering grunt wasn't particularly encouraging but he was an eternal optimist.

"How did you sleep, my love?"

"Shut up Jane, I'm reading." Said without real spite but in a tone that clearly conveyed she wasn't in the mood for light hearted banter.

Jane returned his attention to a particularly stubborn burnt patch on their best pot. Lisbon leafed through the magazine, each glossy page was turned with sharp, angry precision.

 _Flick. Snap_.

"Do you think you're smarter than me?"

Jane froze mid scrub. With a tremendous effort he resumed scrubbing as if he hadn't heard. He feigned a distracted tone. "What was that dear?"

Lisbon wasn't to be deterred. "I said. Do you think you're smarter than me?"

While plan A had failed it had at least bought Jane a few precious seconds of thinking time. Honestly, how did she expect him to answer that question? He opted for a bold play.

"Of course I think I'm smarter than you darling. I think I'm smarter than everyone. We both know I'm not always right, however."

Lisbon's harrumph carried just the tiniest hint of respect, as if to acknowledge a fine saving shot.

 _Flick. Snap._

The magazine reading continued and Jane foolishly relaxed a fraction.

"Is there anything annoying about me you'd like to change?"

Jane repressed a chill. This was worse than he'd feared. Figuring a question like that deserved some time for consideration he considered his options. He'd already gone for the bold play and he knew better than to try and repeat the move.

A more naïve man might have taken the question at face value and made the deadly mistake of answering honestly. Jane, a man who'd been happily married to his first wife for ten years, was far too experienced to make such a rookie error. There was nothing for it but to try and bare-face his way through it.

He turned to his beloved and put on his most sincere expression. "Teresa, I find even your imperfections enchanting, they are uniquely yours and I wouldn't want to change a thing." He quickly returned his attention to the dishes

"Liar." He heard her mutter, but there wasn't any feeling in it. Jane mentally patted himself on the back for switching to 'Teresa'. That had given him just the right impetus to get over the line.

 _Flick. Snap._

 _Flick. Snap._

"How would you rate my looks out of ten?"

 _Jesus Christ almighty!_ Lisbon had just gone for the nuclear option and was clearly determined to nail his arse to the wall. Worse, he'd been played like a fish, his two previous outright denials had set him up beautifully for the sucker punch.

Well, let it not be said that Patrick Jane ever ran from a fight. A verbal fight anyway. A real one would send him cowering behind his diminutive wife without a hint of shame.

"Perfection is unattainable, my pet. I have to be honest and give you a nine out of ten." Jane crossed his fingers as he said it, well aware of the risk he was running. Lisbon wasn't vain but no-one liked to have their looks undersold. Still, she was self-aware enough to not buy a complete snow job. On balance, the risk of deducting an entire point seemed the right call. On balance. _Oh please make it so,_ Jane prayed to the God he didn't even believe in.

Silence except for the pages turning.

 _Flick. Snap._

 _Flick. Snap._

 _Flick. Snap._

"What do I lose the point for?"

The woman was diabolical! She wouldn't be satisfied until she pushed him into condemning himself to hell. There was simply no safe way to answer that question. Out of desperation he attempted a flanking manoeuvre.

"So you're still made at me for making you go undercover in that lingerie shop?"

 _Flick. Snap._

 _Flick. Flick. Flick. SNAP!_

"Oh? Why would I be upset about having to spend all day pretending to have an IQ of 80? Do I look like I _care_ about Kim Kardashian's love life?"

The desire to provoke that had earned Jane so much trouble, not to mention punches on the nose, kicked in. "Oh C'mon Lisbon! I thought you might enjoy getting in touch with your feminine side. Spend some time away from the brutal macho nonsense of the FBI."

Lisbon's chair scraped in agitation. "Brutal?! I'll give you brutal. Brutal was Tiffany saying I looked quite good for my age while Sandra asked me what college my kids were going to go to!"

Jane winced. As usual, his attempt at some fun at Lisbon's expense had backfired. "It can't have been all bad! You really seemed to hit it off with Neil…"

The slap of the magazine hitting the table made him flinch. "Don't start me on Neil! I spent two hours listening goddam Neil agonising over whether he should come out to his mother; as if anyone with eyes could ever be in doubt."

Jane shuddered in sympathy. "I can see how that might have been awkward."

Lisbon snorted. "That's nothing. Imagine walking into the ladies just as he was coming out of one of the stalls!"

"No!" Jane was thrilled and horrified at the same time.

Lisbon couldn't keep the satisfaction from her tone. "You'd better believe it!"

Seeing a way of consolidating Lisbon's improved mood Jane took a gamble. "At least you got the killer."

Jane's observation provoked an amused chuckle. "No thanks to you. I swear you practically jumped into that manikin's arms when she came at you with her handbag."

The jab at Jane's dignity restored peace to the kitchen. Jane finished the last of the dishes but rather than join Lisbon at the table he watched her reflection in the window.

She'd become engrossed in an article and he took the time to admire her cute frown of concentration. He wondered what it was to have her so enraptured, she was positively squirming in her seat. No doubt some story of policing derring-do. Maybe a high profile drug lord taken down in South America.

He decided to test the waters a little. "So it's a lovely day. How about we go for a picnic?"

Lisbon gave a guilty start and jerked her attention from the magazine. She delicately creased the corner of the page and then flicked back to an earlier section. "I, uh, still feel a little tired." Her eyes shifted guiltily. "Didn't sleep too well last night… I might have a little lie down."

"OK dear," Jane soothed. It wasn't surprising, he reflected. Her body was a currently a chemical factory running in overdrive. He was glad she was taking the time to rest.

Lisbon's voice echoed from down the hall. "You wanna join me?"

Jane hesitated. He didn't feel like resting and besides, he really needed to progress the renovations on their future home. Turning from the sink he was about to tell Lisbon as much when his eye landed on the magazine. Never a man to resist satisfying his curiosity, he took a look at the page it was open to.

 _Seven questions he never wants you to ask_

Why that wicked little minx! He was about to go after her, brandishing the incriminating page when he noticed the creased corner further to the back of the magazine.

He flicked to the new page.

 _How To Drive Your Man Wild In Bed_

Jane wasn't completely certain but it looked like a spot of drool had fallen on the page. He'd skimmed half the contents before the realisation dawned there were better uses of his time. As fleet as a dancer he tripped the light fantastic towards the bedroom.

"Oooooh Teresa!"


	10. Chapter 10 - Solitude, Part 1

Solitude, Part 1

 _ **A/N: This piece started with Jane on a beach in Venezuela and then morphed to the point where I couldn't find room for him at all.**_

It was 5.30pm and Chief Lisbon was preparing to go home. As always she felt a nagging guilt at leaving so early, though her underlings had been out the door on the dot of five. There wasn't even a pile of unfinished paperwork to sting her conscience. Truth be told, she'd been reading articles on the CBI database to while away the hours until she could leave. Through some administrative oversight she'd retained access and it was her last, tenuous link to real police work.

She spent hours on it each day, reading up on advances in criminology, policing techniques, case studies and the like. Access was also granted to various national sites with their own in depth articles. Without them she would have felt her brain atrophy to the level of her nice but bland colleagues within months.

She glanced at her desk planner. It spoke volumes about her job that she'd mastered all of its intricacies within a month of starting. Policing in a quiet town, she'd grasped, was all about being visible so the good citizens felt they were getting their money's worth. It was why she'd made the choice to wear the uniform rather than her more comfortable pants suits.

Her planner informed her she had to make three appearances the next day. One at the local school, one at a planning session for a church fund raiser and one that evening to make her monthly report to the town council. She was quietly pleased. That sort of day was the closest she would come to being busy and besides, it was always a pleasure to get out from behind her desk and meet people.

A final glance around her office and it was time to go. Her report had been completed days ago. There was simply no work left to do.

Lisbon was home within fifteen minutes. Traffic was non-existent in Cannon River so even though her house was on the outskirts of town the commute took no time at all. It was ironic that just when she finally had all the time in the world, she had no real use for it.

At home she forced herself to put together a simple meal. Without the intensity and long hours of her previous job she couldn't justify old habits of skipped meals and bad late night takeout. She took her time but even so the clock had only just crawled past 7.30 when the meal was finished and the dishes done.

She plopped herself down in the living room but resisted the temptation to switch on the TV. She looked around her tasteful, cosy house and wondered if this was it. She pictured herself still being there many years later, old and alone. In her imagination she filled her home with dogs and cats and the output of various craft classes she would join to while away the evenings.

Lisbon repressed a shudder. Everything was pleasant and nice but she felt empty. There was an ache in her chest that spoke of all she'd left behind. There was also anger and guilt and self-recrimination. Even six months later her thoughts were still going in circles. How could she have better handled the hunt for Red John, what could she have done differently to protect the team and herself?

She accepted she'd made mistakes. For all her principles and respect for what it meant to be an officer of the law, she hadn't been able to deny Jane at the end. She'd handed her weapon to a man who never made any secret of his plans to murder the killer of his wife and child. Lisbon understood she deserved to pay a price for her actions, but it had been far greater than she could easily accept. The senior figures in Sacramento had kicked her to the curb with unseemly haste.

She heaved a deep sigh. Part of her truly felt like her life was over. After many years of tough, rewarding, challenging work, she was out of the game. The phrase reverberated in her mind. She was out of the game, she was out of the game, she was out of the game. The depth of the loss still shocked her. She'd gone from player to pawn in a matter of weeks.

For over a decade she'd lead the best team in the CBI. They'd solved any number of cases, saved lives and brought justice and closure to the bereaved. She'd mattered. Then, just when the stakes were highest, she'd lead her team into the teeth of the storm to expose the Blake Association and bring down Red John.

It hadn't gone as she'd always hoped, but perhaps it was the only way it could have worked. Miraculously they'd all survived, a fact for which she daily thanked God in her prayers. Nevertheless, while they had triumphed against the odds it had unraveled spectacularly. They'd climbed the mountain but were denied the view from the top. Rather than being allowed to savour their achievement they'd been cast down in ignominy.

The fallout had been brutal. Questioned and discredited. White anted by false friends while true ones stayed carefully silent. She wasn't sure what had been worse, the sly innuendo and whispers or the way good friends and colleagues couldn't look her in the eye.

Seeing the way the wind was blowing she resigned rather than wait to be pushed. The fight was gone out of her. She'd won a war of terrible attrition and was wearied of lesser battles. With her team already gone there was no-one left to protect.

One small consolation had been a final invitation to poker with Sacramento's elite. It was as much for the benefit of the judges, law makers and senators, a show they were above the petty politics of the Blake's Association muckraking. Lisbon swallowed her pride and forbore to ask where their support had been when it might have actually saved her career.

She'd tried to immerse herself in the game but couldn't help notice the significant amount of poor hands that were bet against her. Her stack of chips grew high; it seemed she was being accorded a subtle testimonial. While mixing a drink Judge Manchester mentioned a post that was coming up in Washington State. Lisbon had thanked him sincerely while mentally vowing to never stoop that low.

The next day she packed the pictures of her dog, her baseball and stress pouches and a handful of awards and left the building. Her long-time rival Schneider escorted her out and inflicted a final indignity by taking possession of her badge and firearm, smirking all the while. She had no memory of driving home, just that all of a sudden she was sitting on her couch, numbed and short of breath.

Tears came and were swiftly followed by wracking sobs as great coils of tension unwound themselves from her body. She clutched a cushion to her chest and wailed in a way she hadn't since childhood. It was full dark when her grief eased up, perhaps too exhausted to wrack her further. Head throbbing, she washed down some pills with a tall glass of water and crashed insensate on her bed.

She haunted her condo for weeks. A spiritless wight, a shell of a woman. Finally her will and her faith re-asserted themselves and she dragged herself from the morass of self-pity. She forced herself to reflect she truly had things to be grateful for. Her team were alive and forging on despite their setbacks. Jane had escaped the clutches of the FBI and was presumably free to heal and more on, wherever he was.

She began to work at finding new employment. Her renewed was soon tested by the forest of closed doors she encountered. After two months and more rebuffs than she cared to remember, she was forced to reach out to Judge Manchester's contact and even be pathetically grateful to learn the opportunity was still open. Realising she was closing a significant chapter in her life, she arranged the sale of her condo and had her things shipped to Cannon River. Some research had shown it to be a nice enough town. Maybe she'd finally get the chance to take Jane's advice and appreciate nature a little more. She drew the line at rafting, but some nice hikes might be just the tonic to put things in perspective.

On her arrival she was too busy for much introspection. House hunting, learning who was who in the zoo, getting up to speed on the job; for a brief while she was able to forget what she'd lost. Once she'd ordered her life into its new patterns, however, sadness and loneliness began to dog her steps. Rather than comforted by her cosy living room and ruddy fireplace she felt oppressed

For the first time since Jane faked his breakdown, Lisbon took stock of her personal life. Depressingly, she found that nothing had changed, despite earlier vows to expand her social circle and become more active outside work In truth she was comfortable with solitude. She didn't need a man to complete her and if she'd been truly desperate for a child, she would have taken steps to make it happen.

That had been an easy conclusion to reach when she'd been immersed in a job she loved. Even now, however, when she was cooling her heels on the sidelines she found her attitude fundamentally unchanged. She enjoyed being beholden to no-one. To be able to do or not do what she pleased. To be spared the endless compromise and bickering and mundane activities that characterised living with someone. In her line of work she saw all too frequently the everyday misery of people living together past any logic or reason.

Teresa was no nun but in this day and age she didn't need to be. The local populace might be lacking but she could always make a weekend trip to a bigger city if she wanted a bit of casual fun. That or stay home with a nice bottle of wine, a racy novel and an item or two from her bedside table.. Those needs weren't that frequent in any case and certainly didn't define her.

What she did miss, however, was companionship. She missed being part of a competent, dedicated, high performing team who were more like family than work colleagues. Even more so, she missed the friendship of a warm, charming if complicated man who'd been her partner for the best part of ten years. She missed the intellectual challenge Jane presented, the sense of fun, the endless facts and different way of seeing the world. She missed their banter, the rare thrill of getting one over him, or even the charge to the system when she took him to task (a guilty pleasure for both of them if she was any judge).

Above all, she missed working on cases with her dazzling, brilliant, clever consultant with looks to match. She was well aware of the jealous glances she often got from women and wasn't above feeling a little frisson of pleasure that she was the one who got to stand by Jane's side.

She liked it especially as she sensed she was just as important to him. Not a planet circling a sun but rather binary stars dancing together through the universe, one bright, one dark and switching roles back and forth according to circumstance. It had all been so good she'd rarely allowed herself to wish and speculate on having something more. Then came the fake breakdown and Vegas and he was gone.

It was a kick to the guts so swift and brutal it staggered her for weeks. The pain was so intense she struggled for breath and it took everything she had to hide it from her team and carry on. She refused to shed tears but there was bitter self-recrimination for putting herself into that position. She should have seen it coming; for all his faults Jane had never hidden this side to his nature. Numerous near misses and last minute reprieves had lulled her into complacency and she'd invested far too much of herself into someone too damaged to properly reciprocate.

She spent long nights railing against her sadness, which would be relieved by bouts of guilt and worry about what might be happening to Jane. She was a survivor, however, and she found a way to carry on. The wounds never quite healed but she managed to suppress the pain and force herself through the motions of a job that remained critical even though its savour was gone. Her faith was also a solace and eventually her prayers were answered and Jane was restored to the bosom of the CBI.

Things were never quite the same, however. Lisbon kept her guard up for one thing, no-way was she going to fall so completely under his spell. Lorelei certainly helped in that regard. Jane assumed she was jealous which galled her because it trivialised her horror at the depth to which he would sink to get his revenge.

She'd allowed herself to hope that she was subtly influencing Jane away from revenge, only to realise she'd been fooling herself. He pursued Lorelei with a singlemindedness he normally reserved for Red John. Had Jane been a regular man who indulged in one night stands it would have been easier for Lisbon to accept his taking Lorelei as a lover. .

Instead she had to reconcile herself to the fact Jane had broken his long standing celibacy to effectively prostitute himself in the pursuit of his obsession. It was nearly impossible to fathom, it was like she'd hardly known him at all.

Her worst nightmare used to be of Lorelei still being faithful to Red John and leading Jane into a fatal trap. The scenarios played out over and over. Lisbon being called to a crime scene. The smiley face on the wall. Jane's bloody corpse on the bed with a naked Lorelei licking up drops of blood as dainty and sensual as a cat. The seductress would look right at Lisbon as if to say: _"you couldn't keep him away from me and now he's dead."_ Lisbon would wake up shivering, then relieved and then finally disappointed that Jane had lost his head over that ill-fated woman.

Nevertheless their friendship persisted. The lighter moments became rarer as the long years of their quest ground them down, and yet there were compensations like Jane trusting her more with his plans and insights. Still, part of her held back and she struggled to trust him fully, which ironically nearly got her killed when she went against his wishes and had the seven suspect's phones tapped. Waking up in a hospital bed with Jane stroking her hair had made the ordeal nearly worth it. The genuine care he showed did more to restore her trust than any eloquent plea.

After that the final grains of their time together swirled ever faster down the hourglass. The triumphs and tragedies grew larger and more frequent as they brought their quarry to ground. Towards the end they nearly lost everything, to the point where their time was reduced to a brief meeting in a park. Lisbon was suspended and Jane was the subject of an FBI manhunt.

"You knew this day was coming, it's here," he'd said. He overrode her objections, called her Teresa, asked for her gun, asked her to trust him. Like a broken gambler letting it all ride on a on a busted flush, she'd given it to Jane without a word. She's stared at him, terrified. He was so close she wasn't sure if he was about to hug her or kiss her.

He'd done neither. Just thanked her, and stared at her for a second. Then he'd given her a strange half smile and run away, like a little boy given permission to play before dinner. She watched for a few seconds, then tore herself away. She offered a swift prayer that he might come back safe, then focussed on buying him as much time as possible.

That was the last she saw of her dearest friend. She was left behind, and her days became dark, bereft of sunshine and tea and childlike glee. She'd lived under a cloud ever since. If only she knew where he was, that he was OK. She wished with all her heart that he'd found some peace. She wanted to believe there was some redemption for all of his suffering. Whether he was on a beach somewhere, or maybe back with his carney friends or even finding someone else to love, she was fine with that so long as he was OK. She just wished she could see him or at least know he was well.

She replayed conversations and moments together and lamented she'd never told Jane how she felt. Her old fears kept her from speaking out, even on the beach that day where he'd finally opened up about how much she meant to him. The rush of pleasure quite robbed her of any words and then of course he'd abandoned her before she could reciprocate.

The simple truth was he'd been the best thing to ever happen to her. Their association had changed her in ways she'd be grateful of for the rest of her life. Yet for all his perceptiveness Lisbon feared his self-loathing and guilt had prevented him from seeing the joy he brought he. Now she would never get the chance to tell him…

Lisbon snapped back to awareness. Her chest felt heavy and she could feel tears welling up. She blinked them away and peered at the clock. It was past ten at last, late enough to go to bed.

"I hope you're OK, my friend," she whispered.

Lisbon went through her night time rituals and reflected on the night's reminiscing. ' Yes', she concluded, she was still content with living alone. She didn't need someone to crowd her space or share her bed. That night, however, in the cold of her bedroom, she sure could have used a hug from Jane.


	11. Chapter 11 - Solitude, Part 2

**Solitude, Part 2**

 _ **A/N: I finally managed to wrestle Jane's reflections to the point they made sense to me. Hopefully they suit the tenor of Lisbon's reflections in Solitude, Part 1.**_

Jane sat alone on the beach and let the sun's caress ease the morning chill. Eyes closed, he listened to the swell and the lonely cries of the seabirds. He was completely and utterly free. He carried no responsibility or burden, was beholden to no-one. He could come and go as he pleased without causing the slightest ripple in the fabric of life around him.

He was likewise free of possessions. If he so chose he could up and walk to the next village without even bothering to pack. That was true freedom. He pondered that thought, turning the idea over and contemplating the doing of it. His thumb strayed to his wedding band and his foot nudged against his old shoes. His half formed ideas failed to take root and lapsed back into the subconscious. Perhaps he wasn't quite as free as he wanted to believe.

Rather than fret on the matter he continued to bask in the sun. Once sufficiently warmed, he opened his eyes and took in the endless ocean. Yes, he had nothing and no-one to worry about at all. Perhaps he needn't move again. He could stay right where he was, allowing the wind, the sand and the sun to fix him in place. He might desiccate to the point he transformed into a rock. It would be immortality of a sort he could bear, a passage of millennia staring sightlessly out to sea. Perhaps he'd become a puzzle for future generations, a mystery as to who'd carved the statue of the Watcher.

The light grew and the feel of the sun insinuating its burning tendrils into his skin brought the fantasy to an end. Jane exhaled deeply. He had absolutely nothing to do and that state of mind was beginning to wear thin. Somehow he'd amassed a treasure hoard of time with nothing to spend it on. He still didn't have a wife and child to care for, nor yet were there murders to solve or old friends to seek out or the prospect of bantering with his dearest friend.

He'd finally laid to rest the memories of his family; it had taken many nights and more bottles of cheap rum than his liver was willing to forgive. Angela and Charlotte were truly gone and the burden of his vengeance set down.

His heart remained empty, however. He was more like an automata than a fully functioning man, a replica of a human following simple instructions: Eat, sleep, smile, walk. He executed the basic functions of life without touching on a greater meaning to his existence. He functioned, he survived; to what purpose or benefit he couldn't say.

His lassitude felt all encompassing, more fundamental than either ennui or weltschmerz. Part of him could still enjoy the delights of nature - boredom was not the enemy - but he felt disconnected from the wonders he observed.

Perhaps it was freedom that was the root cause of his predicament. To be free was a fine concept in theory, but in practice too much of it left you untethered. His choices had landed him without human connections, possessions, responsibilities or purpose. The thought of acquiring those chains again was frankly daunting. Nevertheless he had nothing more to gain from carelessly drifting through life.

If he was to take up a burden again, why not start with a sweet one. For the first time in many years, Jane seriously considered finding a woman. His options were limited in a small village but there was nothing to stop him moving to more plentiful hunting grounds.

He was well aware his looks and charm could win him most anyone he desired. He recalled an old conversation with Lisbon and her team. He'd compared Women as accordions. Complicated to play, but vulnerable to anyone with the music to unlock their hearts.

Ignoring his unease, he clinically considered what sort of entanglement he might use to restart the pulse of life in his body. He could live in comfort with a rich widow, their shared pain would allow for a deeper connection. Alternatively he could take up with someone half his age, use his experience to guide and mould her to suit his predilections, bask in her youthful worship to rejuvenate his faded passions.

Jane shifted uncomfortably in the sand. Even as his body responded to his daydreaming his mind felt wearied. When it came to women he'd learnt the truth about himself long ago. He could win over most any woman except for the ones he truly desired. The key to his method of seduction was to stay remote, to make a cool headed assessment of his target's expressions and responses. Once his heart was engaged, however, he lost all sense of control and floundered as badly as the next besotted chump.

He might easily have followed in his father's footsteps and become a player, spent his life knee deep in women and never had a connection of any worth. Fate intervened, however, and a young Angela had set her cap at him before he'd barely started down that road. Her love came at a time when he'd been waking up to who and what his father truly was and helped sway him away from becoming a more highly evolved predator of the same stamp.

Angela had made no secret of either her love or her expectations of Patrick and in so doing overwhelmed his adolescent heart. That devotion never faded, not through poverty, isolation, rapid wealth or the arrival of Charlotte.

Jane wasn't a completely reformed character, of course, far from it. He'd been utterly ruthless in preying on the weak minded and suggestible to build his wealth. His motivation, however, had been founded on building the perfect life for Angela and their child. It kept him human and ensured he was capable of being open about his feelings and responsive to the needs of others. Ultimately, of course, it also proved to be his undoing. He'd merged himself so completely with the women in his life he barely had anything left when they were snatched away from him.

A familiar pain tightened Jane's chest. He breathed deeply and dug his toes into the warming sand, focussing on gritty texture between his toes. The sensation passed as quickly as it came. Deep down he knew finding a woman wasn't the answer to his problem. Certainly not anyone he was capable of seducing. What he needed was someone to drag him to his feet and chivvy him along to some worthwhile purpose.

Unbidden his mind flashed to Lisbon waking him up with a kick to his couch. A smile creased his face as he pictured her irritated expression. Now there was someone wise to his ways. He imagined her sitting next to him on the beach and wondered how long she'd let him wallow there before her patience ran out. Thirty minutes at the outside, he calculated, and that was assuming she'd had her first coffee and another to hand.

God he missed her. He missed not being able to share the little pleasures he worked so hard to find even amidst his despair. Carefully strung together, they'd given him the fortitude to carry on. Those small treasures were lying around his new home in abundance, but their lustre was dimmed without Lisbon to share his appreciation.

Sometimes his yearning for her presence made his self- control slip to the point he'd half turn to say something out to Lisbon before remembering their friendship had been his greatest sacrifice to the altar of revenge.

Did she hate him? Did she curse their very meeting and wish they'd never become associated? Or worse, had she simply forgotten about him? Perhaps she'd pushed the memory of their connection aside to double down on her career in law enforcement and the mountains of tedious admin that came with it.

It was enough to give him pause, but on reflection he couldn't attribute her such mean spirited behaviour. In his experience Lisbon was somewhat unique. While she railed against his intractable behaviour and never missed an opportunity to berate him for his unprofessionalism, he rarely got the sense she genuinely expected him to change. It was like they had an unspoken deal. He would be difficult and close cases and she would yell at him a lot and accept him for what he was.

The gap between tolerance and acceptance was a great one, and especially precious to Jane. In return he cherished Lisbon's bedrock of decency. She might frustrate him but he never thought less of her for it, and while he did try to change her attitude in subtle ways, it was only in the sphere of bringing her around to his plans for Red John.

Whatever their differences and attitudes, their partnership worked. Lisbon's colleagues might scratch their heads and the people from Jane's world might question why he wasted his talents on the cops, but it was an alliance formed on mutual respect and genuine affection.

Now that he'd finally gotten to the point where he could think of something other than himself and his loss, Jane allowed himself to speculate on what Lisbon might be doing. The logical answer was working at the CBI but he had a sneaking suspicion her luck with that organisation had run out. She'd aided and abetted his murder of McAllister and had already been on suspension due to the fallout from the Blake Association.

Without him being there to finesse the situation he very much feared she would have taken the fall. He pondered whether criminal charges were likely in play and decided they weren't. Lisbon was a canny operator and the Blake Association ensured they wouldn't want the scrutiny of a public trial. Kicked out with a handy severance pay, he concluded.

Now that he'd allowed himself to think of Teresa his interest was sparked. It was the first time he'd really thought about anyone else in months. Rather than let that guilt weigh him down – he'd dealt with enough guilt already - he tried to picture her new life.

He found it surprisingly difficult. His image of her was so strongly bound to the CBI it was near impossible to separate the woman from the job and the job from the institution. With an effort he pictured her in some other agency, perhaps running another team that would gladly lay down their lives for her.

She'd be in a new apartment she'd give barely any thought to. He smiled as he pictured the same old cardboard boxes stacked up against a new wall. In his imagination he furnished the rest of the apartment to Lisbon's taste and then his smile faded.

Was he being unfair to his friend? With him gone she might be free to open her heart to a life outside of work. Could she be dating someone? Living with them? That brought a pang but also a sense of relief, of gladness. He hoped she had found someone and grabbed hold of some simple, human happiness. There were only so many chances life would throw to you, and he knew from bitter experience the cost of letting them slip through your fingers.

He reflected carefully on his years working with Lisbon, on the friendship that grew as unexpected as a spring flower in a bitter glacial landscape. They'd had their false starts and misunderstandings without ever losing their good intentions toward one another.

Lisbon had been everything he needed, or at least could allow himself. In return he flattered himself he'd brought colour and wonder to her highly disciplined life. He'd dazzled and infuriated and inspired and frustrated. Intentionally or not, he'd given her a chaste romance that spanned nearly a decade and though she'd been a willing and witting accomplice, he knew she'd have wanted more while he got exactly what he wanted.

Despite the sun and the pleasant heat on his skin and the calming seethe of the waves, Jane felt uneasy. He owed Lisbon a tremendous debt of gratitude and it did not sit well with him. In his life he'd rarely recognised obligations but those he did were treated with utmost gravity.

Musing on his friend the and situation she might be in, he resolved that if she'd found happiness with another, he wouldn't resent her for it.

He'd remain a devoted friend regardless and in any case it would probably be for the best. He felt too weary to indulge in a grand passion, or even to allow someone so far in he couldn't imagine life without them. Far better to see Lisbon safely in the arms of someone who would be completely present for her, rather than having her make do with the shabby replica he'd become.

Thinking of Lisbon he realised she must be equally starved of news about him. The final voicemail he'd left her would have assuaged fears of his death but little else. She deserved to learn about the measure of peace he'd found thanks to her steadfast love and support.

Perhaps he could find a way to write to her. If he went through a third party he should be able to keep them both safe from any official scrutiny. He pictured the long journey his letter would make from hand to hand to boat to plane and most likely an RV. His carefully selected words of well wishes and gratitude might act as a balm to Lisbon's concerns.

His missive, like a thread of gossamer, would gently reconnecting him with his Lisbon. Perhaps in time the strands would multiply and grow strong enough to build a bridge between them once more. He had the time to slowly work at that pleasant task. All the time in the world.


End file.
